A long time ago, I had an argument with a friend who worked in the president’s administration. The federal government’s public assistance program was undergoing one of its cyclical reevaluations, and a proposal had gained some currency that required recipients without a disabling condition to find work after a period of time or lose their benefits. 

I was opposed and I told him so. He replied that, like it or not, the way we consider worth in this society was through work. 

It was not enough to provide subsistence to people in need. They also deserved dignity, and there was dignity in work.

I have presented his argument to many people over the years and mostly, they argue the politics—not the principle. Those who disagree with the work requirement say that there is no dignity in not being able to feed your family or keep a roof over your head. Those who disagree with a welfare program of any kind say there is no dignity in living off a handout, especially from the government. 

But as I think about it, nobody argued against dignity.

Dorothy Day was a hero to the poor and an exemplar of goodness, especially to her Roman Catholic brothers and sisters. I learned of her name before I knew anything about her legacy. 

That’s because of the volunteer shelter and food bank in Danbury, Connecticut, where I served my first congregation, which was named for her. Look her up to know more but the source of this quotation may tell you all you need.

A wealthy patron approached Dorothy one day in her “hospitality house” and gave her a diamond ring as a donation. She tucked it in her apron. 

Later that day, a surly and unpleasant woman who was a regular at the kitchen came in. Dorothy gave her the ring, saying she thought she might like it. 

Another worker challenged her, saying it might have been better to sell the ring and pay rent for the woman for a year or more. Dorothy replied that the woman had her dignity and could do what she liked with the ring. 

She could sell it for rent money or take a trip to the Bahamas. Or she could enjoy wearing a diamond ring on her hand like the woman who gave it away. 

She asked, “Do you suppose that God created diamonds only for the rich?”

I doubt I would have the moral audacity to make such a decision. Like most people, I imagine I would do some mental calculus about where the greatest good would be served and whether the recipient was the best steward of this unexpected windfall. And I imagine if Dorothy Day had a board to which she had to answer, then there might have been some exasperated questions for her to address.

But there is no denying that in her passion to live out her faith in service to those without, she placed dignity at the top of the list of unmet needs for the poor. And those of us who are richly blessed with the security of stocked refrigerators and rainproof roofs can understand that. Dignity may be an inherent entitlement, but without the wherewithal to make discretionary decisions for oneself—how to spend a paycheck, for example—it is too easy for others to deny.

You might well ask, “What is dignity?” I am not sure I can give you a definition. But I can tell you what it is not. 

Prescribing the choices for others that we cherish making for ourselves is the opposite of dignity. That includes the wrong choices and, not incidentally, the need to take responsibility for them.

If you are fortunate enough to have a pocketful of diamonds, I do not suggest that you have an obligation to distribute them among the poor. But should you decide to do so, rest assured that just like other rare and remarkable treasures—love, rainbows, family, health, learning, arts—God did not create them only for the rich.